


The Great Pissing Match

by MalcolmInSpace



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Lothering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmInSpace/pseuds/MalcolmInSpace
Summary: A new mabari comes to Lothering in the aftermath of the Battle of Ostagar, sparking a stream of conflict with the locals.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



> A thank you for all the hard work of running the exchange. :)

It was a very serious conversation with a very serious Templar about the serious matter of the bandits they had seriously massacred on the highway, but Alistair was having trouble paying attention to what Cousland and the swamp witch were saying when the dog (Lord Coushound, he reminded himself. Names were apparently very important to mabari) was doing something _fascinating_.  The dog was sniffing all around a sign post with incredible thoroughness, stumpy tail wagging so hard his back feet kept slipping.

The Templar departed and the conversation ended.  Cousland moved up beside Alistair to watch the mabari.  She was standing rather close, and smelled of leather, steel, campfire smoke, and of the faintly floral hair oil she used.  How did she manage to smell so _good_ after days in a swamp?  Must be a noble thing.

“Checking the news, boy?” Cousland asked the dog, her voice bringing Alistair back to the present. The dog looked up at his mistress, gave her a huge doggy grin, and went back to sniffing.

“Is that what he’s doing?” Alistair asked.

Cousland shrugged. “That’s what I always assumed.  It’s not like he can talk to tell me.  That would be crazy.” She muttered something that sounded like, ‘and amazing’.  “They all do this. Mostly they’re sniffing out other mabari that live here.  Any second now he’ll. Yup, there he goes.”

Alistair’s eyebrows rose as the dog lifted his leg.

There was a long, awkward silence. Cousland coughed.  The dog maintained eye contact with Alistair the whole time, and he wasn’t sure which one of them was more uncomfortable about.

“Tis practically a new lake,” Morrigan said at length. “I’m not sure the simple folk of this place could survive much more of a deluge.” She paused. “Also, didn’t he just do that on the bridge?”

Cousland shrugged. “I don’t know where he keeps it all.”

Alistair smirked. “I know you’re more used to animals than people, but it’s a little odd to keep track of a dog’s… business.”

Morrigan smirked back.  “In truth I can’t help but look when I hear the sound, so sure I am that it’s _you_.”

Alistair grumbled something and turned his back.  Eventually the outpouring ceased and the dog trotted over with a look of self-satisfaction. “Let’s go do something else,” Alistair grumped.

 

On a hill overlooking the town, wooden practice blades clacked together dully.  Carver feinted high, but Marion saw it coming in time to turn his blade.  Her arms were aching from wielding the over-weighted practice blades, but he was just as tired.  They circled, trading swipes.

“Dear sister,” Bethany said from her perch on a rock, “I think there’s something the matter with your beast.”

Marion to turned to look, and Carver tried to take advantage of her distraction.  He cut at her shoulder, but she ducked under it, hooked his ankles and pulled.  Carver toppled down on his rump in the mud with a rump. Marion tossed the sword down on the grass and walked over to Barkspawn, who was staring down into town with a fixed expression. She rubbed his neck where the hackles were prickling up.  “What is it boy?” The mabari whined but didn’t look up.

Bethany, not looking up from her book, said, “Perhaps he has seen something invisible and will now bark incessantly at it.”

Marion grinned and rubbed her dog’s ears. “You would never so that, would you, boy? You’re far too well-behaved for that.”

“That’s a filthy lie and you know it,” Carver said. He was trying to scrape mud off his shirt.

“Yes, but not as filthy as you.” Marion tried to follow the mabari’s gaze, but at this distance the people in town just looked like toys walking about. She shrugged and rubbed Barkspawn’s ears again. “Maybe there’s a new dog in town.”

“Oh, good,” Bethany said sweetly, “someone new for you to talk to. And maybe their owner will be nice, too.”

Marion looked at Bethany for a moment, then whistled sharply. Barkspawn’s head whipped around. “Barkspawn,” she said, pointing at Bethany, “ _pin_.”

Bethany squawked as loudly as her brother as she was buried beneath a leaping pile of muscle and fur.  Barkspawn lay down on her torso, gave her a big grin and a doggy kiss, and went to sleep.  Bethany strained to push the dog off, gave up, and went back to reading.

 

Alistair groaned. Another one of the gigantic spiders crawled out of the cave and rushed them, mouthparts twitching and drooling obscenely. “As devout Andrastian,” he said as he raised his shield, “I believe the Maker doesn’t make mistakes. But I do think He may have been a little bit drunk when He made these things.”

“Tsk tsk,” Morrigan said, “Thou should embrace nature in all its furry, many legged splendor.”

“Listen, witch, if you want to embrace that thing you be my guest. Probably the best date you can get.”

She pursed her lips. “Tis a particularly fine male specimen, yes. See the ridges on his thorax, and the way his eyes glisten?  I believe he could fertilize many eggs, yes, and would make a fine meal after the copulation was-“

“Oh sweet Maker’s breath enough!” Alistair shouted. “You are the most disgusting-“

Cousland launched herself off the bolder atop which she had been hiding and landed squarely on the spider’s back.  The spider bucked and hissed but she kept her sure balance and, with one stoke of her twin blades, hacked the spider’s head off.  Vile fluids spouted out and Alistair fought back the urge to gag.

“Come on,” Cousland said. “Let’s get this last set of poison glands and go back to that guy before any more show up.” Lord Coushound trotted up, looking pleased with himself. “And where have you been? I could have used an assist here.” The mabari dropped to his haunches and looked guilty. “Were you peeing on stuff?” A piteous whine came from the wretched-looking dog. Cousland laughed and rubbed his ears. “Timing, boy, timing. C’mon, let’s go get paid and then maybe eat something.”

Alistair watched the pair with bemusement. “If I took off in the middle of a fight to… to relieve myself against a big rock I’d never hear the end of it!”

Morrigan smiled. “Tis because the hound has innumerable good qualities you lack, such as loyalty, handsomeness, conversation skills, and a pleasant aroma.”

“He was rolling in fish guts, like, ten minutes ago!”

“Very well, I declare the issue of aroma a draw.”

“Thank you… wait, hey!”

 

“Again?” Carver groaned as Barkspawn dashed over to sniff intently at the soggy ground around a signpost. “Is he going to piss on everything we walk past today?”

Marion frowned.  This was unusual, even for Barkspawn. He did, in fact, pee on basically every inanimate object in and around Lothering, just… not usually all at once. She walked over to Barkspawn as he raised one leg and squatted beside him, just outside the splatter zone.

“Maker’s breath,” Carver said, “now she’s doing it, too.”

“Dear sister,” Bethany said with a note of concern, “while I normally prefer sisterly solidarity… what _are_ you doing?”

Marion blew a raspberry at them but otherwise didn’t respond.  She rubbed at something on the post, then brought her hand to her face.

“And now she’s smelling urine, too.  I swear, if you start rolling in filth, too, I’m moving to Kirkwall.”

“Shut up, Carver,” Marion and Bethany said in unison. Marion stood and walked back to her siblings. “I know what’s up with Barkspawn,” she said, and showed them the orangey powder dusted across her fingers. “It’s not just a new dog, it’s a proper mabari. This is kaddis, but it doesn’t smell like any I’ve, er, smelt before. It’s not local.”

Bethany frowned.  “Ash Warriors, maybe, fleeing from Ostagar?”  The news from the south was still confused, but frightening.

Carver shook his head.  “They’d be with the main army, or scouting to the south.”

“Then… who?”

Marion shrugged. “Someone else.” Her lips quirked. “Let’s find out.  Barkspawn,” she said, holding her hand out for the hound to sniff, “ _seek_.”

Barkspawn inhaled deeply, his nose coming away dusted with kaddis.  The dog turned in a circle, nose in the air. He seemed to hesitate a moment, then barked cheerfully and took off northwards, out of town. They followed at a run.  A few of the refugees looked alarmed to see a warhound and three armed people charging across town, but to the locals the only thing unusual about it was that no one was chasing them.

They caught up to Barkspawn at the hillock in the middle of field north of town. Barkspawn was peeing on it. Carver started to complain, but Barkspawn gave a warning chuff before dropping to his belly and crawling to the top of the rise.  The siblings looked at each other, shrugged, and followed suit. What they saw from the top made them gasp.

In the clearing below the hillock, a group of hard, desperate-looking refugees carrying a hodgepodge of makeshift weapons were surrounding three people. Two soldiers in armour with a mabari, and one… “Hey,” Marion whispered to her sister, “isn’t that the swamp witch? The apostate that you, y’know…” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Bethany threw a rock at Marion, blushing furiously. “No, we never, I mean I’ve never even _talked_ to her.” Not for lack of wanting and pining. “Look at the two she’s with. They’re soldiers. Survivors from Ostagar, maybe?”

“Probably,” Carver said, “but what would a bunch of refugees want with…” He sucked air through his teeth. “Those are Grey Wardens.”

“Are you sure?” Marion asked, straining to hear what was being said down there. It was a tense conversation, whatever was going on.

Carver rolled his eyes. “The griffon shield is a bit of a giveaway. Those idiots must be trying to collect the bounty.”

“Should we help them?” Bethany asked.

“The Wardens, or the refugees?”

“Well, the refugees, I suppose. The Wardens are supposed to have killed the king, aren’t they?”

Carver scoffed, and his tone was heated when he replied.  “The Wardens would never so such a thing, it’s obviously slander, or scapegoating.”

“I think the point is about to become moot,” Marion said.

She was right. The Warden with the two swords had been talking, trying to defuse the situation if Marion read the body language correctly, but the refugees apparently weren’t interested in listening. They attacked, and the Hawke siblings were treated to a display of what happens when untrained, unequipped peasants fought trained, armoured warriors.  The two Wardens worked well together, supported each other with an enviable chemistry.  Even though they were outnumbered, and even though they both tried to avoid maiming or killing when they could, it was no real contest. And the apostate was worse. She made no effort at mercy, she simply obliterated anyone who came too near. It was chilling.

It was over in moments. Carver had looked like he was about to leap up and charge into the fray, so Marion held him back. Whether the Wardens had been falsely accused or not, this was no time to be getting mixed up in something that was not their business.

The Wardens had brief conversation, perhaps arguing about the outcome of the encounter.  The Warden with the shield seemed particularly agitated, while the apostate oozed disinterest. They moved on, climbing up to the Imperial Highway.

As they did so, their mabari stopped to pee on a fallen statue.  Barkspawn whined piteously and Marion laughed, rubbed his ears and said, “Oh, alright.  Wait until we’re gone and then you can to restore your territory.” Barkspawn whuffed happily and wagged his stumpy little tail.

Down below, the other mabari stopped and turned to look in their direction, nose lifted to scent the wind. He remained like that for a moment, then turned and ran after his person, grinning a wide doggy grin.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it'd be cute to suggest Bethany had a crush on Morrigan and now I can't stop shipping it.


End file.
